


TAU Drabbles

by ToothPasteCanyon (DannyFenton123)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-01-04 10:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21196373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannyFenton123/pseuds/ToothPasteCanyon
Summary: Random oneshot pieces about the TAU that don't fit into any specific story being written.





	1. Stagnant

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I've been having some trouble with making progress on my longer projects recently, so I made this to try and get me back in the grove of writing! The scenes written about here are generally going to be much shorter and rougher than they'd be in other fics, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!

Stagnant.

Alcor stood by the edge of a pond. It was still and flat, green and musty with the stink of algae. When he looked down, he saw not his reflection but dead leaves and stray sticks that had dropped from the overhanging trees, resting on the surface like solid land.

Insects skittered across without making so much as a ripple; the algae had buried this body of water, and left it stagnant.

Stagnant.

Alcor stood by the edge of a pond. Behind him smouldered the candles of a summoning circle; they had burned low, and red wax bled onto bloodstained dirt. The remains of a cult lay scattered across the forest, and some still breathed. Like candleflame reaching the end of its wick, none would burn for much longer.

Life would leave as it always, always did, and bodies would stay stagnant.

Stagnant.

Alcor stood by the edge of a pond, and thought of stagnant bodies.

Of stagnant people.

Of one, long, stagnant lifetime.

Alcor stood by the edge of a pond, and smiled at the thought of how  _ boring _ immortality could be. He had infinite power, infinite knowledge, and yet he was always struggling to fill his time. Time and time again, the time spent waiting for Mizar always stretched too long for his mind to handle. Time and time again, he ended up buried in boredom and grief and  _ anger _ , anger that went nowhere and did nothing but feel  _ good,  _ or at least feel  _ interesting _ , or at least feel like  _ anything at all because stars at least it stopped him from feeling nothing… _

And there he stayed, stagnant.

Stagnant as the winds came, snuffing out the last few flickering candles.

Stagnant as the night fell, and the moon glistened on the pond before him.

Stagnant as the rains came, and washed the chalk and the blood away. The pond rippled before him, and he stayed

Stagnant as the bodies disappeared, and

Stagnant as the candle holders rusted.

Stagnant as the seasons changed and the wind blew colder.

Stagnant as the snow fell, as the pond froze, as the world changed before his eyes.

Stagnant as the trees grew year on year and rainfall sculpted the land.

Stagnant as the pond dried up and grass then trees grew green in its place. He watched them shoot up into giants, and he stayed right where he was.

Standing by the edge of where a pond had once been.

Stagnant.

_ Stagnant, _ and when the rains came again, he took a deep, shuddering breath, and tessered himself away from this place.

Tessered himself back to the Mindscape, where at least he wouldn’t feel so out of place.


	2. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a very specific format, so I have noooo idea what a mobile version does to it lol. It may look nonsensical, but then again it may also look nonsensical on the normal version too, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Hope you enjoy this random experiment!

Storm. The walls are there when I close my eyes.

_ Always there. _

Always have been there. Old basement’s grey walls, like a 

Storm. Like a

Storm. Like a

STORM

And I hear the

_ thunder… _

Lightning.

_ Thunder… _

Lightning.

_ Thunder. _

** LIGHTNING** _ THUNDER _

** CANDLES** _ CHANTS _

** LIGHTNING FLASHES ON THE GREY** _ AND I HEAR THEM CHANTING TE INVOCO TUUM POTENTIAE DICO NOMEN TUUM ALCOR! _

_ Alcor _

_ Alcor... _

His grip goes tight and-

**SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK** my skin slips loose. _Ohgodhelp_ _cantbreathe _ _imgonnadieHELP_

_ help _

_ help…_

and I am thunder, fading to silence as it pours.

Who dares.

** Who dares.**

** W҉̴̢͍̭̣̹͉̘̟̭̹̮͎͎͖̼̫H̵̡̛̠̜̫̰̬͙̫͙̙͖̮͇̫̝͓̬͓̕͢Ǫ̷̷̷̳͍͍̻̳̭͓͞ ҉̛͔̹̪̜̠̼͚͉͔͇͈̤̫̲̞͔͕̯̩͢͝D̵͖̻̣͙̠͍̺̩̝̟̞̥͜͜A̷̵̶͚̪̟̳̦̕R͏̗͎̤͔͉ͅE̡̖̝̦͔̥̳̱̫͚̫͖ͅŞ̶̵͉̰̼̳͎̳̳͙̦̭͖̜͟ ̛͏̷̧͉̮͕̫̰̳̹̪̮̥͍̞̲̕ͅS͟҉̛͕̙̬̺͚̖̳̙͍̻̱̭̯̫U̥̩̤̗̬͜M̢̱̝̳͢ͅM̡̲͚̜̜͟͠ͅO͏̧̡͉͖̝͇̜̺͉̙̩̹͜͡N̢̢̰̼̭͔̲̥͟ ҉̡̗͇̺͚A͏̸̹̯̼͔͙̳L҉̴͝͏͙̟̹̥̗͙̬̺̪̦͍̼͇͍̯̟̻̳̻C̸̨҉͔̞̣̩̜͇͇̹̤͇̹̭̳̯̝̗Ơ͙͉̙̩̼͙̼̙͓͈̳͔̩ͅR̸̼̠̜̟͙̺̹̘̩̹͟ ̷̢̛̠̱͖̬̮̻̠͈̺̘̤̱͚̳̮̥̩̘͞Ṱ̙̫̪̥̬͚̱͉͈̥̜̠̠͖͕̹̕ͅH̕͟͏̱̲̞̯͚̰͍̦̯͈̙̬͚ͅͅE̱̘̩̘̰̭̟̺̝̦̰͜ ̢̧̻̱̳̯̺͖̪̮̮̬͕̻̖͔̪͚̦̕ͅD̷̡̲̹̺̪̱͚͔̻̭̯͉̫͚̣R̸̙̱̻̫̩̻͟͝ͅͅE͟͏̴̡̯̘̹̪̖͕̮̱̬͎͍̝̝̱A̶͇̭̘̯͖͖̟͉̠̤͖̬̥͝ͅM͏̖̰̦̲̰͖͔͜B̶̵͓̫̝̻̦̗̺͔͖̲̬͓͈͟͟͠E̛̬̤͙͍͎̱͙̳͕̤̱͙̟͈͓͚͞͠ͅN̛҉̪̺̳̙̝̬̺̘̺̺̭̠̯̝͝D͏̡̧̤̞͔̤̻̼͖̗̜̱͚̞͘͜E̕҉͚̹̥̬̩̺̮͕̟̼̩R̵̲̞̺̹̺͖̤͖̝͍͞ͅ!**

I see lightning.

Through rain and red puddles, I see his light. And I hear his _ ROAROF _ ** _W̢̡̮͓͈̠̖͕̦ͫ̐̇ͩͩ̑̚͞ͅĤ̥̦̞̰̙͓̹̌̊̽ͭ̌̌ͬ́͛̇̾͗̄ͫͧ͟͟A̵̶̤̜̪͚̭͓̞̟͉̦͎͓̪̎ͯͣͦ͐ͣ̃̄ͬ̓͆̏Ţ̛͖̹̮̬̠͎̫̘̩͎̥͉͈̩̽́̽̃̾͋̾̋́̉͡ ̸̢̛̦̳̙̠̖͇̦̩̟̞͎̙͓͍͉̗̣̂ͧ̾́͊͑̄ͨ͘͟Ḥ̨̭̺͍̰̗͔̝̹͆̈ͥͫͨͨͥ̉̑ͪ͒̄̏̏ͪ̈́͠A̶̡̡̩̫͓̲̺͖̮͓͉̠̲͈̫̮ͩ̿̿̃͐͂͌͑̀ͤͩ͂̓͘ͅͅV̜͙̻͚̜̪̤̖̘͉̾̆ͤ̐͊͌̑̆͊̓̕͟͟E̡̹̖̺̪͕̘͚̟̙̲͓̭͙̝̜͉͉̦̒̽̾̾ͦ̽͢ ̐͆ͫ̊̈́̾͆ͤ͐̊ͧ͂̒ͩ̑̑ͮ̍ͩ͢͏̴҉̝̼͕̝̘̺̫̟̤̖͔͍̙̠̘͙͈Y̴̡̞̪̻͎̼̻͈̑̾̀̍̈͊͋ͮ͐͗̈́ͪ̐ͭͧ͢͢O̸̧̢͙͍̭̩̯͈̱͖̼̍̀̋ͣ̆̑̍ͤ͢U̱̻̳̼̟̲̺͕͂͋ͫ̓̄ͩͪ̔ͫ̉͝ ̱̝̝͚̭̱͔̰̣̖̳̜͎͙̳̆̿͊̏͗̾͡͡Ď̴̸̞͚̤̮̫̟͈̫̫̙͔̝̗̦̝͆̇̓̕͜Ơ̵̵̝̟̞͉͓̪̞͍̍̏͑̃͑ͪ͒̒̚N̨͖͔̟͕̬͉̱̹̞̞̰̩͔̠̩̭͓͕͒̓ͩ̆͊̃̅̕͝Ḙ̴̢̨͚̟̠̙̖̰̻̱̹̣̠̘̠͙͆ͤ̓̏̄̉̏̅ͩ͛̑̂̚̕͝ͅͅ_ **

_ its loud its close its deafening- _

** _ H̼͙͉͔̬̖̼̱̟̫̲̯͎̗̥̮̰̭͌͋ͦ͂͊ͥ̆ͮͨ̄ͫ̇́̏͘ͅO̡̯͇͓͔̪̣̜͈ͬ͑̅̅͆̈̋ͭͪ̀ͭ͐͛̒́̿̒̚͡Ẇ̴̸̩̺͓̱͎̟̘̦̭̳̻̱̰̺͈̮̼̒͑̅͆̏͌̆͊̉̃́̒͟͝ ̷̨̺̟͉̬̤̗͌ͤͬ̑̈́̒́͑ͣ͜D͎̘̘̖̝͎͓̱̻̫̦̟̥͐͊͗ͦͣͨͥͯ̌̂ͭͯ͂̂͢͡A̛̰͎̠͙̥̬͇ͧͥ̈́͗͆̍ͩ̈́̌̋ͮ̌̓̐̐͟R̶̡̢̟̞̦͍͓ͬ͒͑ͮͤ̄̂̎ͣ̏̀Ȩ̨͎̻̫͕̫̲̪̤̜̝̹̺̺͍̗̘̙͊̓̿̈́͊̋͢͡ ̶̮̜̺̥̝͐̅̀ͩ̉̇͑͒̋ͫͨ̍͡͞ͅY̑̇̆̊̽̈ͧ̈́͐̔́̆̏͗̅̽̚͏̛͔̱̼̞̺̳̱̘̬O̵̷̫̯͙̩̗̖͇͇̠͌̂̃̀ͫ̀̚U̵̢͓̖̦̫̝̪̬̥͖̫̳̫ͮ̓ͮ͒ͦ̓̌ͬ̂̎̆͜ͅ.̶̧̰̙̙̼̾̓͊̇ͫ̽̉̈̋̿̅̃ͣ͠͝ ̴̡̥͚̦̺͔͚͚̻̙͓̖̜̼̰̙͙ͮ̀̃̍̄̀̏ͥ̉̋̚͜͞͡ͅA̋ͪͮ̿͆͂̆͑̓͜͏͏̨͕̜̣̥͘L̄̑͂ͮ̍̌̅͒ͦ̇͒͆҉̨̹̲̦̺̞̥̞̬L̂ͭͩ̏̽ͣ͏͏̵͇̟̭͔̻̮͔̘͚̘̦̺̙̰͢ ̷̷̺͉̫̩̲̙͙̬͕ͣ̾͊ͩ̏͟͠͡Ơ̛̳̣̜͚̥͖̝ͨ̎̌̈̾́ͣͩͬ̊͛̎͛͛F̶̡͌͐ͬͯ̔͋̈́̃̋͘҉̶̠̩̺͎̯ ̵̧̟̙̥̬̮̳̲̦̟̗̱̞̖͚̍̿̓̋͋̽ͪ͛̀͠Y̅͗́͛͡҉̷͢҉̞̻̟̦Ơ̶̊̄̅͟҉͚̜͔͚̞̻͝Ȗ̢̞̬̬͙͕̦̩̯̣̫̦̫͓͓̪̙̳̆ͣ̈̃̃́̔̄͒ͩ͛̅̓ͯ̆͘̕͠ͅ ̵̵͖͓̙̬̖͙̖̠͈͍̤̤̪̇̀̍̑͘͘ͅW̷̤͖̩ͥ̾̉͊͋I̛̻̟͙͖̥̪͕̹̱̗̰͓̙͔̻̤͗͊ͫͥͪ͊͌ͦ̑͂ͩ̑ͧ̌́̔ͮ͌͡ͅL͉͇̦͚̪̬̩̼̟͖̦̲̳̗̜ͭ̈̋́L͌ͣͭͮ͊ͧ̄̄ͩ͂ͦ҉̛̣̩̰̻̙̫͓̩͍̮̜̤̮̮̟ ̝̫̣̳̘̺̙̗͓̊̒͌̏͐ͦ̉͢͜͝P̧̺͚̱̯̥̻̣͚͈̣̹̑ͩͩ̂̿̀͋̌̈́̌ͩ̓͊̚̚̕A̵͇͙̥͇̰̟̳͙̬̪̠̩̅̀́̄ͮ̔̉͋ͣ̔̊̚͡Y̷͛̏̑̈́̈̍̽ͯ͐͒͜҉̝̮̰̹͎̻͖̞̟̜͍̞̘̮.̨͍̭̗̹̘̖͚̪̪̘̬͔͇̾̈̾̈̅́ͨͪ͗͋̾̑̿̄̾̓ͅ ̢̧̦̭͎̗̗̱͎͈̫̪̖̻̫̲̬̯̱̙ͮ̍̌̽ͦ̔͌̓ͬ̈́͒ͮ͢͡ͅA̶̡̝̳̮̦̬̝ͩ̄̽ͣͨ̕͘͘L̸̷̘̲̗̰͓̳͎̟̘̞̺͖̗̝̬͌̐͑̅̀̿̋̂͊̑̊̍ͭ̕͠Ľ̢̺̤̖͇͓͓̫̜͍͎͇̹̋̏ͥ̅̒̐̕ ̵̢̧̥̮̖̼̦͉͙̟̬̭̯̩̼͎ͤ̉́̆̉̐ͧ̏̏̑̉͋̓͞ͅO̓̆̍͗ͩ̒͊ͥ̎̍̉͛̃̚҉̴̯̻̤͈͓̭͕͎̫̯̗͕͇ͅF̉͊̌̑̈́̔̏̾̑̒̍̓̊͡҉̩̹̬̥̭͔͈̠͡͝ ̨̢̺̥̥̺̼̻̈́ͣ͒̈́̑̏̌̐ͦ̿̓̎̃͘Y̳̥͔̬̮͈͕̠̗̥͇͍̭̘̝̭͛ͮ̑̊̃̅͟͜ͅͅO̴̻̤̼̤͎̻͍͓̮̺̔ͩ́ͧͫ̇̔̅̕͞͡Ų̧̮̣̺̩͚̙̥͖̭̝̓̾̆ͬ̇ͫͮ̃̈́ͣ̐̌ͨͬͣ̈́̂ͣ͡ ͙̠̝̠̳̻̯̝̝̏̇ͭͪ͢͟ͅẀ̶̥̦͙̯̰̹̭͙̟͔ͦ͂̿̓̄̽͌ͣ͆͆̑̒͌͋̀̓ͣ̚͜I̵̖̘͖̣̮͖̤͌ͪ̋̐̍̉̊̋͜L̸̾̆̓ͯͭ͢͜҉̛͎̗͍̩͙̜͇ͅL̞̩̺̙̯͍̫̙̫͖̣̮̲͓ͩ̿̎ͥ̐͊ͧͣͧ̿̓̔̓̐͐̓͘͠ ̶̶̨̳̦̗̝̼̠͎̞͎̺̫̤̟̐̈́͆̏̉͛̓͒͒̓ͦ͒ͯͫ̊̎ͮ͞ͅS̴̥̜͇̬͉͉̻̒͑ͪͮ̆̑͊̈ͩ̌͞͡U̵̴̐́͂̌͂ͫ͌͆̾̈́̿͞͏̗̠̠̳̻F̶̮͓͔ͥ̋̏̃͆ͩ͒̌ͩ̂ͩ̐̋ͩ̾̽̂ͫ̿͢͢ͅF̴͈͖͇̠̻̻̗̤̣͉͖̫͖̥̱̙̙̄̏ͣͥ̆̋̆ͮ̔ͭ͌ͬ̄̔͌ͭ͡͡Ë̷̖̟̩̗͖͕̳̥̪͇͎͍̞̻̤̙͈́̿ͯ̍ͪͅR̡̢̔̃̌́ͩ̐̇̂̏ͤͩ̂͐̈̾̀̏҉̮͉̺̺̣͇̫̲͉̥̣̦͎͠.͕̠͕͎̞̘̫͚͔̪̞͈̰̻̭̟ͧ̄̈́́ͨ̍͠G̸̛̦͕͚̫͕̬̟͕̈̒͂̕͡I̴̸̩̭̩͎̠̼͔͎̬̦̼̬̟͈̺̮͑͐̊̀̌ͤ̊͆̏ͤ͂̚̚͠V̧̈͆̔ͫ̅͆ͬͪ͗̕͏̺͕͇̠̬̞̹͉͍̣̯̳̹̞̬͍ͅE̜̼͖̦͔͈̙̝̮͈͈̹̪̹̽ͬͣ͗̿̍̽̑͂̉̆̄͆͂ͮ̋̚͢ ̓̈͑̈̑ͧ̋͢͡҉̯͔̬̱̗̻͙̭̪̦̳͈͞M̸̷̡̢͉͉̥̖ͥͬ̃̅ͣ̄E̿̅ͥ̔ͩ̌̾̅͌̈̔̅ͮ̍͟͏̦̱̼͕̠̟̩̼̼̹ ̺͍̬͚̣̫̞̊ͭ͆̇͟͝Y̷̩̜͓͓̱̺̝̬̗̱̹̝͍̫̰̳̤͈̍̋͑̒ͦ͘Ő̫̥̪̺̟̟̮̭̄̃ͨͮ̓͗̋ͬ͆̒͊̂͑͊̏͘͘͜ͅU̘̹͖̘̳̪̻͂̐̌̐̊̇̏͘R̴̷̖͇̙̩͔̣̝̞̹̠̘͓̝̲̻̅ͬ͌̏̾ͫ̅̇̍ͮ͟ ̨̛̭̺͎͉̙͔̯͎̖͚̫ͯ̏̉͒̓̓̐ͨ̚͝S̢̛͈̼̥̱̞̙̥̤͓̖ͩ̀͒͒̃̂͡ͅO̸̵̧̪͈̼͌ͯ͒͜U̢͒̋ͮ͊̀ͥͯͥ̎ͬ̐͊̆̏̀ͫ̀͌̚͝҉͎̰̹͇̤̣̲̗Ļ͚̫̮̱̙͓̟͕̘̝͛̄̑ͪͧ͒͡Sͦ̓ͪͭ̓̍ͬ͛̏̄͌ͮ̓̑ͮ̑͠҉͏͖̹̥̣͔̘̦̝͈̭̬̗̩͓̣̭̠̩ͅ.͗̒̅ͬ͋̿̿̐ͤͧͪ̓͋̃ͯ̚͡͡҉͓͎̭̹͓̹̜̦͉̯̗ ̵̡̔̅ͮ̔ͯ̾̏҉̨̖̺̬̤͉͔͓͉͝L̶̨͎̼͖ͬ̀ͨ̂̕͝͞Ê̷ͤ̀̒̊̂͐͌̑̋̉ͯ̑͏̠̞͖͎̣̺͔̰̣͝͞T̛̹̳̙͖͉̳̝̭̟̖̺̟͖͓͕̪ͦ͊̅͒͝ͅ ̵̭͇͚̙͖͎̮͐ͨ̈́̈ͪͣ̋̉M̴̩̩͚͉͉̹̭̻̺̞̰͖͖̺ͨ͐͒ͪ͝Ē̺͎̪̤̞͇̦̼͔̩̿̇͗͜͟ͅ ̴̢̠̱͉͓̳͎͕̳̇͂̽̅ͪ̍̽͌̈́̏̑͗̐ͅR̬̱͚̬͆ͨ͛̓̑ͫ̀́̚͝ͅIͪͯ̊̂̓͛͛̐͛̍͆̀̀̄ͧ̇͊͏̙̗̩̖̯͉͍̯̘͎̝̰̺P͎̺̘͙̮̭̹̝̭ͤ̈́ͭ̒̾̃̎͘͟ ̶̧̖͙̟͉̐ͬͫ̍ͮͪ̈́̅̆̄̿͌̾Ț̸̨̦͙̝͍̩̘͇̯͔̱͒̾ͤ̓͊̓͆͒̔͂̐̍͌̔͜͝H͍͍̯͙̙̥̥̥͔̱͕̜̳͓͎͍͐̊͒̆̆ͭͧ̾̍̌̃ͨ̓ͪ̋ͯ̌ͨ̚͘͜E̶͒ͤ̊̚͝͞͏̖̬̜͖͔̤͎M̘̟̬̩̺̯̿̀̔̔̏ͨͬ͡͡ ͐̅̓ͤ̂ͮ͑̔͑̎̑͢҉͏͚̤̠̱̯̩͍͓̪̩̫͡ͅF̵̵̧̖̰̩̲̩̭̙̼͓͇͗̀̏͋ͮ̚ͅͅR̶̡̙̺̭͇̣̫̠ͫ́ͮͩ̈́ͯͦͧ̕͜͠O̴̧̓̒̍͐͘͞͏̬͖͖̦̭͕̻̜̟ͅM̵̵ͨ́ͩ͏̱̘̟̦̬̜̤͔ ̸̗͕̩̼̹̟̪̝͇̹͉̙̘͖̏ͦ͋͊̈́́̍̉̓̾ͫͬ̑͟͜ͅY̴̶̰̰̬̫̳̮̬̦̖̝͇ͨ̇̔͊̂̆͝O̡̧̼̝̪̗̜͕̘̱̭̯͖̯̠̰̯ͭ̓ͪ̌͑͡Ů̶̢̟̺͉̦̣̭̫ͨͪ̒̋̆̋̑̐ͫͭ̌̚.̸̸̢̯͍̝̥̘̪͉̌̒͛̿͝ ̢̛̪̰͙̱̩͙̲̘̭̥͔̲͎̥̤̟̐̎̂̒͐̽̿͌̌̔̌ͣ̕͘͟L͂̍ͯ͒ͦ̓̃͒̆̈̌̑̃͐ͮͯ҉̪̳̱̱̤͍͍̼͙͍̤̦̮͖̙͙͢E̗̻̙̪͕͎̻ͯ̏̐̏̾͛̓̎͗̃̿̈̈́͗̂ͮ͞͞ͅT̵̨̪̣͎̻͉ͦ̎ͨͫ̑͒̄͂ͯͯ̎̓ͯ͒̆̎̓̾̒ ͬͭ̀̌̅̂̎̽̄̔҉̴̨̣̼̰̜̳̱͖̰̲͕̙M̧̨̖̞̹͈̜̫̫̫͚͇̖̋ͣͮͪͯ͛ͭE̾́̃ͮ̈͊ͩ͏̸̤͙̮̞̝̰̝̻͍̦̤̤̪̼̕͝͝ ̸̴͕̖̟̖̙͕̤̦̥̰̙̏̂ͯ̇̈̈͐ͨ̽̓͢͠ͅP̶̷̸̢̤̦͎͎͓̝͓̥ͨͭ̔̑͆ͧ̋ͫ̆̒ͤ̐ͨ̐̀͒Ù̢̜̘̣̘̟̪̓ͫ̍ͫ͆̈͌̊́L̷̡̛͍͓̲̯̝̫͈̰̤̟̫ͫ̆̅͛͛̏̐̽͑͊͊͋̓̏̀L̡̢̗̗̠̻̭͔̱̓͆̓ͩͪͮ͌ͨͩͪͫ͠͝ͅ ͉̺̪̘͎͗̓ͦ̈́̈͂̽ͨ̎̔͋̍͒̌͜͜T̶̢̪͓͍̜̦̠͉̆ͬ̓̾͢͜H̢̖̩̜̲͇̬̳̔͑͋ͭͤ̈ͥ̎̇̉ͧͪ͂̚̚͟Eͭ̋ͬͪͥ̂̈́҉̛̭̯̝̠͔͜͞M͙̣͕̥̫̝̥͔͉͎̗̭ͣͪ̑͘͟ ̵̬̹͕̠̗̦̮̩̬̬̟̖ͮ̂̏ͯ̏̄ͨͩͥ̈̅͂ͧ́̍͠͝F̶̍̿͆ͫͦͪͪ̅̀̅ͥ̚҉͙̲̗͙̯͎͇͎̼̯̝͖̮̙͝ͅRͮ̌͑͋͑͋̎̔̒͂̿̍̑̏͏̱͎̪̫̜͘O̞̹͎̞̹̙̣̯̾͐ͨͨͪ̂͋ͥ͘͜M̡̡͚̩̲̟͔̝͔̹̮̤͓ͥͫͤͯ̽̊͛ͩͯͯ̒͛̊̚̚ ̛̟̠̳̜̟̟̞̟̜͓̤ͦ͐ͧ̏ͩͮT̡̳̘̤͇̞̩̹̥͖͓ͥͩ̏̓̇̔̐ͦ͗͢͠H̵̴̡̛̼͔̟̻̜͈̘͛ͦͣ̇͌ͭ͆͛͂̌ͪ͐͘E̢̫̩͙̥̳̘̬͚̜̠̭͖̓ͨ̅̋ͦ͊ͧͭ͌̽̓̔̽́̃̚͞͠ ̸̻͖̙̝̻̼̗̖̼̺̲̤̳̻̘͔̘̺̍͋ͮͤͥͮͦ̍̑̑̈́ͩ̔ͯ͊̍͟͡B̶̸̄̔̑ͮ̎ͦͩ̃̏̔͢͏̗̟̥͔̳̯̜̭̜̞̤̝͚̹͎̩̥̻̹Ŗ̵̶̶̼̠̞͉̆̌̌ͦ̐̌͊ͮ̍̚ͅẠ̯̫̮̙̦̘͔̣̠͛͊ͧ̊̄ͤͨ̿̃̅͆ͬ͒̕͜͡I̛͓̳̭̘͎̻̞͔̻̲͙̲̱̺̠̤ͨ̓̅̄̌̏̐̊͒͑̈͜ͅN̵̨̨͔͎̪̬̠̻̦̘̭ͬ́͌̂̐̒ͤ̆ ̢̞͙̭̙̮̰̪̭͔̭̘̺̝̻̂ͤ̄ͥͫͧ͒̅̀ͨ̊͘̕͞B̟͎̠̦͙̠̩̜̺̮̰̍̋̇ͩͬ͢E̡̧̝̫͎̣͈̪̙̠̩͔̠̝̥̪͔͊̎͂͛̓͒ͤ̔̓ͨ͋͂͗̑́̎̂ͅH̡̓͐̎̾͏̬̺̫̲͓͇̦̯̖̮̺͕͘͞I̸̮͚̩̥͈̯ͥͮ͊͑͌͆͒̒̓̈́̓̾̀N͗ͧ̊̓̀̆͊͝͏̷̨̳̺̞͉̖̳̺͖̺͙̤͡D̵͈̟̘͖͓ͭͩ͊ͭ͐̊͑̿ͭͭ̓͊ͨͦ ̴̌ͮͯ̓҉̨̰̬̣̖̜Y̧͚̯̮͎͍ͩ̍̍̎͟͞͠Ò̵̡̼͉̺̦̭̾ͦ̽͆ͯͦ̅̈͑ͬ́ͮ͊̂͐ͦ̕͢Ū̵̧̟͙̰̳̜͆̃ͩ̊ͤͭͮ̆̏ͬ͆̾̓̈́ͪ͞R̃̒̊ͮͧ̋͌ͯ̔̚͘͢҉̟̖̻̠̮̣̟̫̘͓̖̣ ̴̩̭͈̙̬̫̪͎̭͓̠̮͍̺̳̙͂ͨ̃͂̐̔̈́͒̔ͬͪ̔̉ͫ̒̈́̊̾̚͘̕S̴̮̟̟̲͍̜̥̣͎͇͙͚̤̺͉̻̩ͬͬ̋͂̀̇̇̋̃̐ͥ̃̃̉ͩ̓̚͢͜O̷̫̩͎̻̗̠͙̜̩͇̼͍̳̳ͬ̿͋ͣ̌̄͑̔̄̆̽̈́̽̚͜C̶̜̪̥̮̫͓̮̹̟̱̓͐ͭ̑ͧ͊̊ͮ̈͘͟͡ͅḰ̨̮̗̘̼̙͓̮̬͓̘̹̞̲̟̗̩̬̖̅̌̆͂̏̔ͫ̈́̅͢͝͠͝E̦̫͕̭͚̠̥͈̥̪̼̳̭̾͋͂̌͋͋̂͐̓̌ͩ̑̒̅̒͆̎̅̚͡͠͠T̨̨̉̒ͬͭ͐̕͏͔̯͎̖̦̜ͅS̷̸̛̞͕̩̞̫͍̘̓ͪ͌̿̍͌͂̌ͪ͆̒̀ͣ͊͗͌.̸̨̢͓̗̺̹̟̱̩̭͇͖̖̜͍͈̔̅̊̇̎ͤͫͭͮͦ͐̏͌̚͞͠ ̷̢͔̲̭̙̠̝̩̭̙̺̘̹͎ͧ̈́͂͆ͯͯ̐ͮ͊́ͫͫ̆F͌̾ͧͬͨͣ̅̂ͮ̆̂ͩ̂̕҉̦̗̪̥̤͉̼̜̹̭̗͎͔R̶͙̣͉͔̻͙̮̞̦̘̒͐͊̽̑ͦͧ̅̎͘͡͝O̵̤̬̰̱͚̹̠͇̰̱̓̒̓͑̈́ͤͣͯ̈́͗͑̚͘͡ͅM̧͋̇̏̍̋̿ͧ̓ͪ̐̽͛̀̌̌̊̎̚̕͟͏̘̳̖ ̳̠̲̜͚̼̘̰̦͖̩̥̑̂͗̎̃̔̇̌̃̍͊̚̕͞ͅ_ **

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** _T̈́̂ͪ̏͊ͤ̓̓̏ͩ͛͌̄͆̍̈̈͝҉̳̜̲̜̹̮̭̟̤̩̼̤̲̝͈͙̜H̨̬̪͓͓̜̞̎͗̐ͮͧ̕Ę̡̨̫͎̼͉̟͓̯̿̊ͣ͂̾̅̓̔ͦ̋ͪ̊ͫͦͫͨ̅̄̕ ̧̒̅̂ͨ̊̈́̈̏͠҉͈͚̪͕ͅͅM̡̮̰̟ͣ͆ͬ̓̓ͭͥ̈̾̐͛̉ͩ̑̉́͘͞ͅA̤̝͉̪̪̝͙͙͉̤̥̘̞͖̫̦̟̳͑ͨ̾ͭ́̅̎́́̽̏́ͥ̅ͥͩ̂͛̕Ṙ̡̏͌̓̇̎͒͊ͩ͆̾͛̐̆ͣ̌́͡͏͔̰̥̺͖̖̜̹̤R̶̴̶̛̂ͩͬ̾̋ͤ͌ͩ̄ͫ͐ͤ҉̤̠̞̤͉̖̰͍̬͎̼̳̬O̸̡̞̩͎̫̜͈͌̊ͥͩͩ̋ͯ͗͞͠Ẅ̖̲͕̻̭̥̬̣̰̻̺̠̰̫̘̳̣́͒ͣ̋̎́͊̃̄̊̈́ͫ̓̚͡ ͌͛̇̊̀̓҉̵̡̺̙͚̖̤̼̰̖̜̦I̶̧̘͇̩͖̦͚͈̲̹͙̹͙̦͛ͭ̓̆͑̓̂̅̔̍͋̈͐̅͛͒ͦ̊͟͝N̶̢̢̰̫̱͓̑̿ͫͨ͊̕ ̧̑̇ͦͣ̆͝͏̸̤͍̝̣̙͙̼̫̪̖͎Y̹̩͎͈̯͙̳͌̈ͬ͌͌͛̆̿ͭ̒̎̍̓͌͛̋͝ͅO͎͇̳̗̠̤͛̃ͮ̈́ͤ̅͝U̵̧͙͔̣͇͉̖̱̤͖̰͒̽͆̎ͥͪ̽͌̇ͨ̍̎̀ͭ̈Ȑ̛̛͍͙̬̖̲͓͇̫͔̞̤̗̮̝̖̦͚̇ͧ̈̔ͯ̓̓ͤ͊̈ͬͫ̔̾́̏ͣ͑ ̴̢̣͚͚̙̞̄̌̑ͤ̏̿͊ͬͤͣ͌̚B̧̮̟̹͕̞͖̥̜̖ͤ͒ͯ̍ͤ͒̍͆ͥ̀ͣ͌ͮͦͥ͋̚̚̕O͋͒̒ͭͧ̔̊̃̚҉̴̷̬̞͓͖̜͈̥̺͇͍̩̹͇̠ͅN̸̨̢̲͔̬̣̮̯̱̖ͬ͌͒̅̒ͥͯ͂̈́͠E̛̯͉̖̜̭͈̲̝͓̠͚̽ͥ̅̈́̎̋͛ͦ̅̂͂ͥ͘͡͡ͅS̛̛̛̰͇͕͓͙̆͒͂̓͛̄̈́͂ͤ͌̎̿̍ͨͨ.̴̴̧̛̖͇̞̗̩̝̥̻̦̭̬̼̠͔͚̦͕̗̈̽̇̂͑̓̽͑̍͑̚͝ͅ ̵̆̒̈͐̈́͢͟͟҉͚̟̯̣̯̝F̢͈̺̘̥̤̭̹͔̫͍͇̌͐̽̒̈ͤ̅̾ͩͮ͠ͅR̡͎̰̤̙̝̤̦̖͈̼͈̣̯̓͗͑̏ͣ͋̌̍͌̚͘͝͞O̙̳̬̝̻̙̱̤̪̜̻ͬͦ̎̇͂ͮ͡ͅM̸ͩ̋̒͐̇̏ͣ̈́̋̈́̃̚͏̞̻̯̺̳̬͖̼̙͕͓͕ ̢̢̞̟̲̬̏̐ͦ͑͌ͪͭ́̅̚͞͠T̶̡̡͌̔̃ͨ̎̈́͑̇̎̈͛ͤ͂͌̾̾̈҉̶̻̳̮̘͉͇͙H̷̥͎̘̞̳̹̬̪̤͓͙͚̰̗͆̿̀̿̿ͥ̇̋̉͛̔̌͒̈͊̈́̓̊̌ͅE̴̵̡̦̟͈͈̝̜͔̫͚͓̼̗͐ͭ̿̆͑ͦ̓͊͂ͮ̅͑ͮ̇̈̏͌̈́͘͢ͅ _** _h_ _elp..._

**_͖̙͖̟̈́̽͛̔ͨ̄ͨͪ͘͢C̺͍̲͉̺̳̫̼̗͈͖̦͔̀̆̂ͭ͆̾̕ͅÖ̵ͯ͒̏̆ͥ̆̋̿̔̓ͣ̀̅͏̸͓̰̩̮͝L̡̛̬̥̱̥̣ͣ̊͌̏͗̏̑ͨ̏̎͊ͥͣ̑̆̊ͦ̕͝ͅD̷̹͎̩̝̈́̌͌͐̾ͬ͛̋̎ͦͪ͐ͨ̋̂͡ ̵̛͍̱̝̦͈̜͈͈̖͔̽̎ͪͣ̉͊̀ͪͥͭ̆̋ͦ͒̕͞͡ͅB̯̦̬̮͎̟̼̱͙͚̳̒͐ͭ̇ͫͫ͘͜͢L̸̴̨̹͚̯̘̳̯̫͖̲̣̲͔̪̘̯̲̲̃̒̉ͧ̽͛ͫ͊͒̏̾͋ͣ̑̆̎̚͜͟A̝̺̫̬̥͉͇̲̤͎̖̹̝ͨ̍͋̅̈́̀ͭ́͆͒̈̎͝C̴̸̤̬̳̬̓̒͌͑̎̀ͩ͗̉̆̄ͭͯ̾ͬ͒ͣ͂̍͢ͅĶ̶̸̛̰̯̻̫̣͇̬̬̻̜̱̦̠͎̍̅ͨ̌ͯ̔̀̍̏ͧͥ͐̒̏͊̍ͅ ̸̜̖̝̯̘̪̭̖̭̑ͨͬͯͨ̿ͭ̊̾̋̌ͫͣͭ͗̾ͬͣͦ͘͝ͅH̴̱̳͙̘͖̝̰̪̪̘̩̹̺̮̥̬̏ͬͤ̿̎͊̂̿̅͐ͧ͋ͬ́E̴̸̴̫͖̱͎͍̗̬̠̱̘̤̳̭̦̳̮̒̋ͥ͋̓̒ͪͨ̆̍̈́̋̇Â̡̼̖͎̳̯͇̋̑̚͟͞R͙͙͇͕͔̖͖̞͎͔̠̯̘͖ͮ̾͋̎̈́͜T̗̩̳̰͕̭̻͆͛̊́̐̾͑͆̓͑̂ͪ͋̎̅̇͡͡S̴̨̧̥̜̗̗̰̫͙͙̩͓̾͌ͨ̅̀ͩ͐ͨ͒͗ͫ̉ͬ̎̎ͅ ͌ͤ̇͌̒̅ͥ̽̑̈́̎̆̓҉̴̤̻̝̜̲͚̱̜̫̫̤̣̥̩̠̬ͅT̊̾͛͒ͮ̕͝͏͚͈̠̱͎̪͙̻̺̞͎̬͝H̹̘͔̬̲̥̬͓̗͕͐ͤ̓̅ͦͩ̆̐͑̓ͯ͘͜͢͢ͅĂ̛̠̫͎̰̣͙̼̥̱̔ͩͮ̅̐̓ͧͤ̓ͫ̂̕͠Ț̨̛͇̗̦̤̤̜̬̎̃͋̌̀̑̌̋͋̿̓ͮ̚̚͜͡ ̈̏̅͆̌ͣ̊̏̍ͦͤ̾̃͐͐͋҉̞̮̥̞̫̞̯͔̺̺͎̺͉̺̩͘ͅÍ̶ͯ̉̀ͧ̍ͫͬ̌͌̽̚҉̫̮̣̥̫̻̩̟̬͇̝̦̜̕ ̭̜̣̼̥̜͓̜͙̤͚̩͕̘̬̞̝̦ͭ̐̊̾̽͊͗͛̈́͢͢͡͡͡C̣̗̮̙̫̜̻͚̣͚͕̝̼̘̯̙̀̒̃ͦ͗͐̋ͤ̋͌̈́͂͒̂̆͋̎͝͝A̴̋̏ͧ̂͏̘̠͚͙̦̠̫̦̪̭̝͇̬̭̺̝̠͢͝Ň̊ͪ̋̅̓͌̈ͣ̅͒̄̇̿͊̍͏̦͈͈̻̮͈̤̟̙̯͈̖̹͝ͅ ̵ͥ͋ͥ̆ͭ̔́̍̉̏͂̒ͯ͟͏҉̫̗̼̟̟̤͎̱̘̺͈̱̭͡ͅF̸͖̳͍͍̺̻̻͍ͮ̅͌̎͞E̡̳͇̻̩͋̈ͧ̔̆͋̔̆ͧ̽ͥͧ̏̚͞E̷̥̼͓͖̰͍̘̪̱͉͚̦ͭͬ̀̈̔̌̇ͮ͘͜Ļ̷̽͗ͯ̌̂̀҉̥̰̹̺̩̞̭͙ ̷̴̷̛̩̣͈̬̩̰̘̻̤̩͍̣̍̓̈ͦ̾ͪ͒̎̚ͅͅ_** **_R̐́̇͗ͬ͛ͥ̈́̓̉̃̒ͩ҉̸̷͎̩̤͚̥̯͙̼̠̝̲̜͠ͅͅA̷̡͙͉͓̝͚̜̙͖̭̪̤̳ͦͦ̍ͯ̓͂͊͂̓͋̂̏̓͛͗̈́͘͜͡C̛͙̯̳̟̲̬̯͕̻̹̘̫̹̹ͯͮ͆ͩͧ̅͑̏ͧͥ̿͌̍̐ͮͩ̐̕͟͟Ȉ̸̴̖͖̲̻̗̻̭̘̭̖̦͙̬͙͎͙͙͍̆ͩ͛͜͜ͅN̴̩͚̰̤̬̹̬̜̻͕̟̠̼̮̺̓̌ͫͯͣͨ͐͛͌̓̋͞Ġ̨̌͂ͨ͏̶̣̟̘̫̟̘̹͚͖ ̷͉̫̳̯̘͇́ͬ͋̒͟I̸̢̻̟̠͖̫͈̰̤̖̭̩ͣ̏̋͌́ͬ̒͆͒̇͗̇̚͘ͅN͎̳͙͎̞͈̞̞͎͕̂͛̄ͯͤ̍̏̉̈́̆̓̽͂̚͜ ̨̯͉̹̭̘͍͑̓̌͆̇͜Y̷̛̻͉͇̠̣̒͑̈́̀͊̾ͭͥ̊̈ͪ̚͝͝Ọ̴̞͈̬̤̍̒ͦ̍̋͗̉̈ͬ̅ͮ̿̇̇ͪ̕͘U̷ͥ͗̂͐ͯ̃̂̈́͐̈̔̋̔́̔͒̓҉̱̯̮͕͖͠͞R̴̢͆̌̓ͦͪͫ͆͊ͥ̔͑̑̋̿̍͏̸̦̝̯̳̰̲̼̝̝̠͍̹̙̙͟ ͓̠̤̦̱̂̏ͯ̅ͩ̍̄̓̄͒̾̄ͩ̋̇̈ͤ͘͜C̷̴̶̥̩̙̗̳̱͎̤͉̺̺ͥ͆̿̂̌̀́̓̍̕H̶̶̜̗̘͎͓̞̹̳͙̱̪̰͖̜̣̖ͮ̓́̇̈́̓͛ͥ̋̚͞Ė͊̈́̑́ͧ͡҉͝҉̼̹͇̻͚̥̦̗̗̻̥̭̝̝̦̦ͅS̶̶͚͖̦̣̾ͯ̐̄ͮ̕͝ͅṰ̵̡̹̘̰͕̳͙̘̱̳̇͊̅ͯ̓͋̀͛ͤ̎̈́̍͋̈S̨̊̋̏ͣ͌̆͌̋ͧ͜͡͏̴̫̬͕̠̘̰͎̗̬͇̬͉̯̺̙̗ ̧̦͓͔̹̮͈͈̠͎̰̩͍̤̺͑ͬ͒ͬ̎ͣ̄ͥ̓̆ͩ̐̃̆̎́̚N̵͚̺̝̞̤̘͍͕͙̠̜͖͑͋͆̄̆ͥͮ̏ͨ̑̏ͫ̏ͧ͋ͬ͋͡͠O̸̸͈͔̱͉͋͋̿͋̍ͨ̇̈̈́ͧ̌̚͢͞W̶̜̦̟͎͓̬̖̭̳̋ͧ̓̔͌ͪ͑͗̌͑̐ͬͧͦ̈̎͠͞ ̴̢̢̛̻̬̗̫̲̩̱̱̟̲̱͉̞̎̊̒̍̅ͦ̒͗̄̽ͩ͐ͦ͠-̵̷̮̤̮͒̎͌̌́̂ͮ ̵̴̸͖̞̰͕̠̠̥̤͎̹̯̰̑̈́̇̇̾̑͂̏̓͒̎̐̉̚͟͞ͅY̢̙̜̻̤̼͉ͦͩ͋͒̓͑̔̂͆͛͋̂̚͞Ḝ̖͈̻͆͂ͥ́̉ͣ͒͑̿̚͘͠S̢͕̦͍̤͙͔̲̲̭͓̦̱͓̠̲̰͎̋ͩͤͥͬ̿̈ͦ̾̐ͫͤ̈̐͗̊͋͑!̷̨͇͉̼̠ͧͮͩ̂̈́̽ͧ̂ͮͫ͌̄̌͛̊͗͛͢ ̸̧̡͉̳̭̼͍̝͉̥̜̤̭̖̯͍͕̲̔̃ͧͯͧ͠F̶͖̠̻̹̯̬̩̗̲̩̹̖̤̹̜͒̏͗͡ͅE̢̛̠̼̻͓͓̟̅̅̈ͭͣ̑̔̔̉̋͌̏͌̇ͧ̑͠Ä̡̲̠̤̬̜͍̼̠̫͕̠͍̆̿ͥ̕͠Ṛ̷̰̼̮̝̯̯͍̺̘̘̮ͨ͊͋ͭ͒̆ͬ̇ ̡̃̏̌͌ͫ̈̅̾ͩ̚͘҉͖͓͉͢F̴̨̡̯͚͕̙͎̖̥̬̳͔̩̳̯̜ͭ̏ͤ͌̏́̃͆ͣ̌́͗ͫO̵͆̊ͭ̒̈́ͣ͗̀̿̏ͯ҉̶̢̦̱̱̩̙̱͇̤͖̰̱̱̫̯̰̣Ŗ͎̰̩̣̘̫͍̣͉̬̦̬̼͕͎͉̳̀ͤͨͥ̋̀ͪͦ̊͌͛ͭ́͋ͦ̐͢͜͡ ̧̠͎̣̱͎̂̓̒ͭ͛̈́͆ͭ͐ͩ͟͡Y̢̨͎̦̺̲͖̹̭͖͎̯̮ͦ̄̅͆ͯͮ̈́̎̂ͦͣͨ̐̑ͮ͐̓̌̊ͅO̷̵͍̼̤̗͓̘̫̯̻̙̤͉͙͇͑̃́̀̂́̃͗̍U̲̳̬̰̦̱̜̘̮̱̹͖ͬ̐ͬ̂͐ͪ̚̚ͅR̤̩̹̻̙̫̖̯̣̐͆̊͒͗̿̏̉͒ͤͣ̒͡ ̵̢͎̬͎̺̹̟̳̲̖̱́ͣ̏͂ͩ̓̊̿̑̋̉̂ͬ̕͢͟P̷̸͍͉͙͙̳̻̞͌ͯ͛ͭͯ̒̃̽̏̀̄̽̑ͨͫ̀ͫͨ͡A̸̧̱̰͈̫̖̮̪ͯ͐͂̾ͫ̓̀ͮ̆̉̎̉͡͝T̽̓̽̾̊͌͋̆͐͒ͩͮͯͪͨ̓̄͏̷̧̪̜̼̥̬̖̘̳͇̮͕̝̯̱͇̭̻H̷̶̑̆̇ͭ͒ͤ̽͂̂ͬ͗̓̈́̑̌ͩͮ͟͏̩̗͓̬̠̪̗̖̦̪̝͜E̛͚͚̯͈͕͎͎͍͕͍̞͂͛ͧ̃ͤ̂̒̓͑̌ͪ͂͑̆͝͞T̷̨̼̜̗̠́̉ͣ̽̉͗̈ͣ̿͗ͯ͛̈́͘Ī̬̞̯͉͓̯̭̮̼̝̻̺̳̐̍̀ͥ̋̀͋ͨ͌͆͋̽̍͡͝ͅC̵̊̇͗̾̌̑̓̿̄̅ͫ̆̀̆̚͏͍͉͖̙̺̳̙͇̙͟͡ ͨ̐̽̇̌͊̿̈ͯ̔́͛͗̌ͪ͟͏̜͔̥͚͔̗͉̹ͅM̛̥͎̖̫̘̟̭͇͕̂̐ͫ̊͆̌͒̍͂ͤͭ̐̑̍̋̔͒ͅO̴͕̠̮̜̻̖̘̙̲ͫ̐ͤͮ̀͗ͩ̾͊ͩ͑̾͟ͅR̢̛͙͍̼̲̭̝̮̙̭͔̦͛̏ͤ̍ͩ̇̏T̳̺͕̪̱͉̭͒ͭͪ̀̈ͭͩͯ̉̐̽̋̎̓̉͛ͮ̐̂͘͠͝͡A̴̶̸̧̜̭͎͇̳̘̫͕ͧ̅̓ͯͦ̓̽L̢͚̞͇̹͍̭͎̞͚̯̽̓͌̇͒̒ͯ̀͗̇͐͛̇̐ͭ̆̿͌̚͢ ͇̟͍͓̉̈̎̎̔̍͌̿ͫͦ͛̚͘͢͡Lͥͬͬ̍̒͐̔̂͏̨̠̬̱̗̱͇͇͖̰͉̲̼̭͈Iͪͭͧͧ̆ͥ̓ͮ͂̉҉̱͍̲͢V̊͒͂ͫ͌͗̎̋̃ͤͯ̕̕҉̠̞͓̝E̶̴̪̖̹̲̜̣̫̳̱̩̝ͯ̅̍̌ͬ̉̂̏̾̑̀ͮͣͨ͌̒̾̚̚S̸̬̻̰͕̻̪̳̩̤̟̫ͬ̒ͧͫ̾̔!̢̝͙̩̱̖̩̳͙̦͎̼͋̽͂͐̇̌͑̚̕͢͡ͅ ̵̡̣͔͚̠̻̖̘͎̼̭̙̜̲̬̏͐̿͗̏ͮͤ̀͛͢I̵̴̺̰͓͔͖̜̩̯͚͓̫̯̦̭̩̖ͥ̈́̽̽̓̾ͪ̇ͤͤͬ̿̍ͨͯ͑̋͌̐͝ͅṰ̺̮̖͕͉̱̹͎͈̳̖̗̤̈́̓̅͐̄͊́̉͆͘͘͜͟͞ͅ ̶̷̢̮͔̻͙̟̰̗̬̝̫̘̼̝̝̮̟͍̍͂̈́̓͋̆͋ͭ̂̑̃͂ͧ̂̚͘ͅĄ̷͚͖̖̰̱͕ͥ̌͗ͣͭ͂̽̌͊͌͊̽ͪͥ̚͢͟Ņ̢͙̰̖̺̑̂̃̒ͯ̾́̌̒ͬͮ͗ͫ͞D̶̢̳̳̤͓ͣ̋͋ͥ̅ͦ͌̓̌̐̄ͫ̎ͨ̎ͥ͑̂͟ ̵̨̰̝̳͓͓͑ͧ̃̃ͦ͐̂͆͋̾̂Pͫ̈́̓̒̑ͦ̆͌͟͞҉̨̜̥͓͍̬͔̲̭̯̩̞̣̤̪̜̻A̵̧̭̣̮̥̫̭̫͓̫̅̽̾ͩ̈ͥͣ̉̌̈̋ͮ͒͢I̷̸̮̭͍̝̻͇̰͎͍̓ͭͥ̒ͣͩ͛͊͌̑ͨ̈͡N̵̘̘̯̲̹̤̟̼̩͓̳̝͈̦͐̇̋͗̍̓̊̆͌͑͗̚͡ ̡̄͆͋ͧ҉̛͖̯̰͇̝̠̘̞S͒͑̑̎̄ͫ̀̏̿͜҉̶̺͙̹͉̤͘͟Hͫ͋̍̆ͭ̌ͧ̃ͦ͢҉͇̮̭̩̪͖̺̣̭͔͕͓̣̘̫͚ͅÄ̶̢̢̢͉̺̹͉̳͓͊̒̅̋̽̒ͬ͠L͆̾̐ͯ͋̎͡҉̡̣̜̗̟̠̹̮̭̟̱͢ͅḼ̵̥̜͈̣̞͎̺̮͎̲̙̲͙͒͗ͭ̊̋ͪ̓͑̉͟ ̛̗͖̩̰̠͕̩̖̣̈́̀̓̄̅̆̊̎͛̄̕͟͞͠B̵̨̨̢̬̩̣̞̥͈̣̱͗ͯ͛̑̏̈̅ͯ̆̅̂ͮͥͧ͞E̴̢͎̦̩̰̞̝̣̰̞͖͇̙͖̳̰̬̺̩̘͆ͪ̓̎̔ͣ̚̕ ̢͇̰̯͙̟͉ͤ̓̓ͣ͛̽̇̇ͬ̒ͥ͆́͟͞͠͞Ỳ̧̪̠̗̹̙͐ͯ̇͌̎̈͛ͦ́͑͗̔ͭ̈̃O̸̸̡̺͇̬̦̮͖͉̞̖̤̫̳̽̍̐̂̆͂̂͗̂̓̈̀ͩ͋Ǔ̀̅̽ͮͤ́̿ͧ́ͣ̓̄͏͍̘͔̮̦̦͉̺̲̞̹̞̯̹R̸̷̗̥̩̠̫͍̰͍̪͎ͯ̔ͯ̆ͧ̕ ̋̂ͫ̾ͥ̇̌͐̽͋̓ͣ̎ͣͯ̆̈̚͡҉̸̛̱̹̤̠̹͎̥̜͉̙̟̪̙̝L̐͋̇̿̂͐̅͋ͭ̏̂̔ͯ҉̟͖̙͠ͅA̸̴̧̳̙̞͎̜͋̒̈͛̿̀̄͋̀͂͊ͥ̐ͮ͜͝ͅͅS̿ͨ̿̅ͭ̍͊̅ͪ̄͂ͣ̂̓̚͏͏̤̝͕͖̙̮͓T̶̡̲̫̱͎̤̩̥̼͐ͬ̎͑͋̓̃̔̃ͪ ͗̊ͮ́͏̮̖̱͈͙̖͔̫͙̣͈ͅC̶̷̫̮͎͔̬̱͖͎͔̤̻͎̟ͬ͂̒́̈́̆ͪ̉͆ͪͭ̾͋̍̎̄̃Ō̸̺̭͉͈̪̲̹̣̫̠͙̬̱̞͆̒͋̕M̡̒̾̅̽̄ͭ͟͏̹̠͙͍͚͇̖̫͕͈̙̼̖̦̖̘P̴̲͎̭̥̮͔̹͈̳̈́̈ͪ̎̽ͧ͌͒ͨ̆̈̊̚A̷̧̱̙̻̺̟͙͎̹̘͚͑̏́ͤͣ̉ͭ͋̐̔̽͒̾ͬ͐͆͑N̝̪̻̙̳̗̮̺̝̫̻̩͈̻̰̼̹͚ͫͣ̋̃̒ͭ͛̓͊̊͠Ì̷͕̞̤̗̍̑̐͋ͦ̿ͦ̕͠͠Ő̷ͭ͆̍̆ͨ͟͞҉̯̳̲̕ͅN̰̣̖̼̘̬̥̯̰͈͉̲̯̙̲̰̈̉̎ͯ͊ͫͤ͑͐̔̇̂ͣ̒ͣ̚͟͠ͅͅS̩̣͚̙̯̭̤͍͙̮̜̥͉͓̳̓̈͌͗ͤ̅ͯ̒̐ͬ͋͆̄̕͡ͅ!̴͙̖̹͎͎͖̟͎̯̱̀ͤ̐̌̔͐͂ͨͣͫ͟͜͝ͅ_**

_ help me... _

**THE HEAVENS**

**HAD OPENED**

** AND WASHED AWAY**

** THE GREY**

** WITH RED**

** WITH RED**

** WITH SO MUCH RED BLOOD I CAN STILL FEEL MY SOPPING HOODIE** _ AND THE HANDS _

The hands that gripped me then.

The voice that spoke

Soft. Gentle. Comforting.

_ Like distant thunder. _

_ “H͠e̴y. It̢'̢s o͏kąy͝. Stay͡ aw̡ak̵e.” _

I was distant too, I was fading, but...

_ “Listen. I can save you.” _

_ “Just let me make a d̴̢͝e͢a̛l̵̨.” _

  
  


And his

hands that were

wreathed with deadly

flames, felt like the

sun, chasing away

this storm.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


And I can open my eyes.


	3. The Littlest Cultist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired from some adorable drawings noodleydoo posted to the TAU Discord server!

Alcor did not have time for this. He had  _ stuff _ to do, like… like asking the Flock if they needed him for anything, or answering the odd summons, or…

Well he  _ was _ busy, okay! He didn’t have time for this.

“Alcor! Alcor!”

Alcor glared down at the little hooded cultist waving at him. They had the biggest, happiest smile he’d ever seen on a human and  _ no he wasn’t going to call it adorable he wasn’t- _

“Alcor? Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Alcor crossed his arms. “What do you want this time,  _ human?” _

“I wanted to show you something!”

“...okay.” He watched the cultist reach into their robes and pull out- “A flower?”

“It’s a dandelion! For you!” They shuffled closer. “Look, it’s the same colour as your eyes! I saw it and I thought of you!”

“Aren’t those weeds?”

They blinked up at him. “They don’t look like weeds to me. They’re so pretty!”

“They grow everywhere.”

“Yeah! That means they’re always around to cheer me up!” The cultist inched closer, into his circle, holding the little plant up to him. “So I wanted to give one to you, in case you ever need cheering up!”

Alcor grimaced at the dandelion, and the adorable little smile of the cultist that made him feel way more emotions than he wanted to right now.

Oh no, he really did not have time to get attached to another human right now.

(He never, never had enough time.)


	4. The Perks of Having a Demon for a Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This oneshot was inspired by these drawings by AvesPecora on Tumblr!! They're amazing :D https://avespecora.tumblr.com/post/190224412712/16-year-old-100-year-old-demon-dipper-sterling

As far as Belle was concerned, she had the best brother in the whole damn world. Dipper was kind. He was funny. He was _crazy_ smart, and he was also a demon!  
(She didn’t care what Dipper had to say with ‘ohhh you don’t understaaand I’m a mooonsterrr’, she counted that last bit as a solid positive)  
What other sister in the world had a brother who could blip her anywhere in the world in an instant? What other sister in the world could say her brother could make deals for literally anything with just a candy bar or two? It was _amazing_.  
It was also kind of annoying, because for all Dipper’s amazing powers, he seemed intent on pretending they didn’t exist ninety nine percent of the time. Just this morning on the bus, he started panicking about forgetting his English homework - seriously?  
“Dipper,” she’d said. “You’re literally a demon who can materialise anything at will.”  
“But I worked hard on it!” He kept rifling through his bag. “I thought it was in here! Ugh, Mrs K is gonna kill me!”  
At that, Belle sighed and unzipped her own backpack. She held out a piece of candy to him, and he looked at it quizzically.  
“A piece of candy so my brother’ll stop being such a worrywart.” Belle grinned at him, but it faded when he didn’t smile back. “What? You can magic some homework up and we can get back to talking about fun stuff! That sounds plenty fair to me.”  
“Belle, that’s not…”  
“Not what?” She made a face; it felt like she’d done something wrong here. “You okay, bro?”  
He looked around the bus for a moment, then seemed to shake himself. “No, it’s… it’s fine.” There was the smallest puff of flame as he took the candy from her; a second later, he drew his homework out of his bag and hugged it to his chest. “Don’t worry about it. Thanks, Belle.”  
Belle had grinned back at him and gone “Nooo problem!”, but they didn’t get back to talking like she wanted them to. Dipper just stared out of the window, looking… somber. Yeah, somber, that was the word. She’d learned it in Mrs K’s class.  
Belle was fourteen, and she thought the world of her brother, even if she didn’t understand him sometimes.  
Dipper was ancient, all-knowledgeable, all powerful… and he envied his sister, sometimes.  
There was so much in this world he wished he didn’t understand.


	5. Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note for shapeshifting.

A woman sits by the shore. The waves come in, the waves go out. The waves come in, the waves go out. The sun slowly, slowly sets. It’s darkening, but not dark yet.  
Not dark enough, yet.  
The woman sighs, and looks out to sea. Touches a hand to some kind of necklace. Leans back, and checks her phone - only quickly though, and she’s careful to hide the screen’s glare. She wanders up to the water’s edge, and dips a foot in.  
The water ripples around her ankles. She shivers. It must be cold.  
The waves come in, the waves go out. The constant roar is mindnumbing, and the darkness keeps falling. Soon, it’s hard to make her out at all, if not for night vision goggles.  
She waits, and the waves come in, and the waves go out.  
She waits, and the waves come in, and the waves go out.  
She waits, and the waves come in, and deposit something on the shore.  
It’s round, with flippers. Its skin gleams in the moonlight. It shifts, and the woman helps it to the rocks. She tries not to laugh too loudly, but her muffled giggles carry across the dunes. She sits with it, for a minute, talking quietly. Then she rises, and offers a hand.  
Another hand reaches up, and takes it. Another woman is helped to her feet, and adjusts the coat around her shoulders before wrapping her up in the biggest hug. They share a long, passionate kiss.  
The waves come in, and the waves go out. The trucks come to life with a different kind of roar.  
Harsh headlights shine on the scene in a different way than moonlight, and there’s shouts.  
Screams.  
Men who grab them. Sealskin torn from desperate hands. Orders barked.  
Then, drowning out all else, a chant.  
The first woman cries out in Latin and touches blood to her necklace - a pendant bearing Alcor’s symbol. The men see it glow and scramble back, but it’s too late. A new kind of darkness descends on the night.  
Alcor the Dreambender opens his eyes, and the waves come in blue. The waves go out red.


	6. Mercy

And just like that, he was a demon again. Bill Cipher – he knew his name was Bill – unshackled, coming into this world with blue fire ringing his hands and a terrible cackle bubbling up from the core of his being.

Oh, it felt so good to be _ back_.

(Back from what?)

He consulted his omniscience – he knew he had that, too, he knew it instinctively – but it had nothing to offer him. Strange. He didn’t see everything.

Bill didn’t like that. His cackles died away, and he looked for something weaker than him to take his feelings out on. Some hapless mortal wanting a deal would do quite nicely, but…

It was the birth of the universe. Atoms didn’t exist yet. All those souls he longed to tear at were sleeping peacefully in an unreachable realm, and he screamed at the injustice of it all. His toys! His playthings! How dare they hide away! Hadn’t he waited long enough to have fun with them again?

No mortals…. Fine. Bill could hear screams that were not his own, roars and howls and cries of pure demonic rage as others of his kind came crawling into existence. Some were strong. Some were less so.

Bill’s hands danced with blue fire – his blue fire – as he made his way towards them.

For millennia, violence was the only thing he knew. Feeding on the weak. Running from the strong. Tearing into souls, savouring that sweet, sweet taste of another being and relishing its cries for mercy. Hah! Mercy. Bill loved that word – he loved how absurd it was, here, in a universe of nothing but swirling gas and raging demons. There was no mercy here, and yet still it could be heard, echoing across the emptiness like a voice from another, more pathetic world.

Mercy.

Mercy!

“_Mercy_!”

Bill loved how it sounded on his tongue, too. Bill loved the rush, the terror that came every time a demon more powerful than him looked his way. It was a game, the way he pleaded for his soul, for the power he’d clawed away from those weaker than him. The way it never worked, the way the demon would laugh as it tore into him and devoured his soul and…

He’d be there. Teetering on the knife’s edge between existence and nonexistence, so close to those sleeping souls he could reach out and touch them if he had the presence of mind. And it’d be quiet, for a time. He could almost pretend he was sleeping, too.

Should he be sleeping? Sometimes he almost felt… like he belonged with them.

Funny, belonging. Like mercy, that felt so very strange to him. So very familiar.

But he couldn’t make a game of it, so he didn’t like it. He put it out of mind with the sweet taste of a soul, and he ripped and he tore and he laughed until tears rolled down his face and he was having so much fun that nothing mattered.

Mercy. Belonging. Hah! They were demons. They tortured each other for fun; those concepts had no place in this world – in their world!

No place in him.


End file.
